Finding It
by lebanon7
Summary: Takes place Season 6, after Smashed/Wrecked. This is how things could have gone if Buffy had listened to her instincts and given Spike a chance. I follow the episode story lines with changes only to Spike and Buffy, but things will eventually veer off from canon.
1. Chapter 1: Waking Up

She woke slowly, drowsily. Something cold and smooth was under her cheek, and she was aware of a pleasant smell emanating from the surface. It was one of familiarity – man, smoke, leather – Spike.

Buffy smiled lightly and pressed into her lover's chest. She had finally fallen asleep. A hand came from above her and brushed through her hair.

Wait. The last thing she had done the night before was…

Buffy's eyes popped open and she sat upright. Crap. She had fallen asleep at Spike's crypt again. That was the second time in two weeks. She needed to stop going to him when she was exhausted. Or stop period.

Spike was staring at her. His usual smirk was missing, but so was the usual warmth that his clear blue eyes always held for her. He smiled at her softly, one arm still wrapped around the Slayer. The smile brought some warmth to his eyes, but it was slightly vacant, and Buffy realized he looked tired. She raised the hand that was not resting on the vampire's thigh, and lightly traced the bags under his eyes.

"You look tired."

He shifted his gaze away. "Hard time sleepin'," he muttered.

She realized what had happened. He had stayed up all night because she was actually with him for once. She felt a tightening in her throat and she swallowed over it. No feeling anything towards the monster. She pulled her hand away and slid out of the bed. Spike didn't attempt to watch her dress like he had other times. This time, he lay back down and closed his eyes. That was weird. He should be trying to convince her to stay for more.

Buffy shook her head at those thoughts and tried not to glance at her lover as she dressed. After a minute, she was only missing one thing.

Looking around the room, she did not see it. "Um. Have you seen my bra?"

"It's on the staircase," he replied without moving.

She walked over and sure enough, there it was. She fumbled with it, trying to put it on under her shirt before giving up and taking off her shirt to put the bra on properly. Once her shirt was on again, she turned back towards the bed.

Spike had pulled a pair of black jeans on while her back was turned, to her disappointment. He was sitting on the edge of the bed and lighting a cigarette.

Before Buffy could squelch the urge, she blurted out a question that had been on her mind for a few days.

"What was life like with Drusilla?"

That startled him. He dropped the cigarette. "What?"

"I mean – I just. I was wondering what your life was like. Before," Buffy fumbled out, embarrassed. She should be going home.

He stared at her in shock before blinking a few times, rubbing at his eyes, and retrieving the cigarette. "That's kind of a loaded question, pet," he drawled.

"Mornings. What were your morning's like? Waking up next to Drusilla," Buffy prompted, annoyed that she was so curious.

He stared at her for a moment before looking into the air and running a hand through his hair, which was returning to his natural curls. Buffy wanted to run her own hands through them.

"It depended on the day. The mood. Guess you could say how lucid she was. Sometimes I would wake up and she would be holding a torture weapon and want to play. Other days she would sleep through until evening. When we woke, it was usually around four or five. Being the scourge of Europe is hard work," he grinned. "It was either sex or feeding," a shadow passed over his features. "Or she wasn't there at all when I woke."

"She wandered off?"

"Yeah. Usually to talk to her dolls, or go to your great poof," he ended lowly.

Buffy cast her eyes downwards. "Oh."

"Yeah. So the Ponce finds his way into the conversation. What a surprise," he muttered, taking a long drag.

Buffy glanced at him. His face was pained, but he was trying to hide it.

"I'm sorry," she said softly. He started, his eyes snapping to her face.

"S'cuse?" he faltered out.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that," she said again, but this time was not so sure she was still talking about Drusilla and Angel. Spike held her gaze for a long moment, his eyes probing and confused. When Buffy began to feel butterflies in her stomach, she tore her gaze away and turned around to head out. She heard a sigh behind her. Just as she reached the top of the stairs, she whispered to him, "See you," before shutting the trapdoor and leaving the crypt.

All the way home, she berated herself for giving him something to use against her. Or was it for giving him hope? Or because she felt something for him? She shook the dangerous thoughts away and headed home, for once, not happy to see sunlight.


	2. Chapter 2: Dead Things

Buffy stopped herself suddenly, staring at the damage she had done to him. A wave of shame washed over her and she broke, sobbing uncontrollably into her bloodied hands. After a minute, she heard him sit up.

"What am I doing?" she questioned.

He laid a hand on her shoulder, but she jerked away.

"You needed that. You needed to do that to put your frustration somewhere. Don't do this, Slayer."

Slayer. She had distanced herself, alright. She stood up. "But I'm guilty."

"So you're going to abandon Dawn because you accidentally killed a girl? And how many girls have you saved?"

She shook her head, fresh tears leaking through her lids. "That doesn't matter."

Spike glared at her from the ground. "Saving people doesn't matter anymore? Right then, I see."

"What?" she asked snappishly.

"You're not the true Slayer anymore," he stated, a challenge in his eyes.

A look of outrage split across Buffy's features. "Excuse me? How dare you!"

"The true Slayer always understands that sacrifices must be made, because there is only one Slayer, and she must stay alive and active as long as possible to fulfill her duty, which is fighting evil. Not sure I understand how evil an accidental death is," he said, some of his words slurring and his left eye swelling up.

Buffy glared at him, "And how would you know so much about it?"

"Hello? The Slayer of the Slayers, here. I always did proper research."

It was enough to give her pause. She turned away from him and looked at the police car in front of the station. She was guilty. But what was at cost? Before she came to any semblance of a decision, something from behind her knocked her across the head and everything was black.

Something soft and cool and wet was dabbing at her forehead. It felt nice.

"Is she waking up?" an anxious voice asked.

"She'll come around when she's ready," a calmer voice said that was close to her.

"Spike…" Buffy mumbled.

Dawn rushed to her side.

"Buffy!"

"What happened?" the Slayer muttered, opening her eyes.

Willow was sitting beside her on the couch at Revello Drive. Dawn was leaning over her.

"What happened?" she repeated louder. The last thing she remembered was trying to decide whether or not to give herself in, talking to Spike. Spike. Was he alright? Wait…how did she get here? Who attacked her? Where was Spike?

"Spike called from the police station saying you had been caught off guard by a vamp in your distraction," Willow explained. Dawn glowered at her sister.

"You were going to give yourself in!" she scolded.

Buffy looked at the floor.

"So we drove there and Spike handed you to us," Willow finished.

"What happened to Spike?" Dawn asked.

Buffy forced herself to look up. "I did."

"You? Why would you beat up Spike? He didn't-"

She stopped herself. "He was trying to get you to not do it," she said accusatorily.

Buffy sighed and nodded. Dawn glared at her and stood.

"Well, when you decide to be my sister again, let me know," she spit out before running upstairs and slamming her door.

There was an awkward silence as the two best friends didn't look at each other. Buffy fiddled with her shirt and Willow started using the cloth again.

"Buffy," Willow started lowly, "what is going on between you and Spike?"

Buffy started. "What? Nothing. Why would you ask that? There is nothing romantic happening between Spike and I."

She realized she said something wrong when Willow's eyes expanded into saucers. "What?" she asked uncomfortably.

"I didn't ask if there was anything romantic happening between you, I just asked if there was something going on between you two. I meant a disagreement or a friendship."

"Oh," Buffy muttered, as her cheeks reddened.

"_Is_ there something romantic happening between you two?"

The blond wanted to deny it, she really did. But this was Willow. And she was asking outright.

She took a deep breath and nodded.

"When I got back, he was the only one I could really talk to. He just…listened at first. Then we started to hang out more and more. And just as the song spell was ending, we kissed. And then again, the night Giles left, we hooked up in the Bronze."

"And recently?" Willow asked quietly.

Buffy grimaced. "More than kissing."

Willow breathed in sharply. "What does that mean? Do you have feelings for him?"

Buffy opened her mouth to reply, and then shook her head. "Sometimes…maybe. It's just hard. It's Spike."

Willow nodded, but she had a frown on her face.

"What?"

"It's just… Does he make you happy, Buffy?"

"No. We have a very violent relationship. We are not nice to each other."

"But why is that? Are you even letting yourself try?"

"Willow, why does it sound as if you are on Spike's side here?"

"I'm not. Not really. But Buffy, he was really there for Dawn over the summer. He had all of our backs, actually. And we just threw him aside. And I want you to be happy, Buffy. Spike has shown he's not all bad, and he won't lose all of that not-all- badiness by having a moment of happiness."

"That's true. If it hasn't happened yet, it won't happen."

Willow's eyes widened again, and Buffy blushed.

"Forget I said that," the Slayer mumbled.

"Forgotten," the witch muttered back.

That night, Buffy lay in her bed wondering where all of this was leading her. Was there something in her messed up relationship with Spike to explore, as Willow had suggested? Why were her thoughts always so confused when it came to him? Why had they never been able to kill one another?

A draught of wind blew across her bed and Buffy shivered. Her window was open. She stood to close it, and as she raised an arm to pull it down, she noticed a soft orange glow by the tree outside. The Slayer sighed. She would never be rid of him.

She stared at the light, eventually making out his outline in the dark. His back was to her. His face must be all kinds of messed up. He had knocked her out in the alley, and Buffy was actually grateful for that. Willow said the girl was Katrina, Warren's ex-girlfriend, so the Trio was probably responsible for the death, and made it seem as if Buffy had done it.

If nothing else, she needed to apologize for it. Without another thought, she climbed out the window, shimmied down the roof, and jumped to the ground softly. Spike heard it and turned around.

They stared at each other. Buffy looked at her handiwork. His entire face was a wreck. He could barely open one eye.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

Buffy glared and walked over to him. "Why are you asking me that?"

He stared at her. "I wanted to make sure I didn't hit you too – "

Buffy cut him off. "Are you kidding me? I'm the one who beat you into mincemeat."

He shrugged. "Had worse."

"From a lover?" Buffy questioned.

His eyes narrowed slightly. "From a lover," he said.

Buffy laid a hand on his forearm. He looked at her, shocked.

"I'm sorry. I don't know what I was thinking."

"You were confused, Buffy."

"That's no excuse."

Silence.

Buffy took a deep breath to prepare herself to ask the question she was going to ask.

"Do you think maybe – maybe we could leave town for a few hours one day soon?"

"What?"

"Just – go somewhere."

"Just the two of us?"

"Yeah."

Spike tilted his head to the side. "What are you asking, Buffy?"

She blushed. "Just get away from what we are here. And see what we are somewhere else." Inside, her stomach was doing back-flips.

Spike stared at her again. There was a strange look on his face, one that Buffy had seen many times before. This time, she had a harder time convincing herself it was not a look of genuine love, because it would mean that Spike loved her far more than Angel ever did.

"It's fine, it was just a thought," Buffy muttered and began to walk away.

"Stop! Slayer, yeah, I'll do it. When?"

When? She had no idea. "Um. Saturday night?"

Spike was now wearing a hopeful look on his face, and it made Buffy even more uncomfortable. "I'll drive," he smirked.

Buffy smiled back and entered her house the same way she exited. Once she reached the window, she said softly, "And thanks for knocking me out," before sliding back into her bedroom and shutting it behind her.


	3. Chapter 3: First Date

Buffy wasn't trying.

That's what she told herself as she sat across from Spike, pretending not to notice that he wore cologne that night. Pretending not to notice that he was actually wearing a color for once in his long un-life. What she was maybe having the hardest time pretending not to notice was how interesting their conversation had become – a conversation that did not involve vampires, witches, Slayers, Watchers, or any of the like. In fact, as Buffy listened to Spike talk about meeting Oscar Wilde – someone she had only briefly heard of in British literature class – it was hard for her to recall why she ever thought of Spike's long time on Earth as an un-life. He seemed to make the most of every situation, explore every new idea and philosophy, and jump at every chance for excitement and adventure. Buffy really was trying to not care and not try, but trying to not try was becoming exhausting, and frankly, boring. She had been trying to not-try since that afternoon…

She had spent more time than she'd like to admit standing in front of the bathroom mirror, trying to look casual-cute. Trying to look like she didn't care much – only a little. Like she wasn't trying too hard. Of course, she was trying. She was trying very hard. Because even though she kept telling herself that she was only doing this to prove there wasn't anything really there, that she was being stupid for a few weeks because the sex was so good, she knew deep down that wasn't true. And she cared. And she was trying.

She wore a soft, baby blue angora V-neck sweater with a matching cami underneath, nice jeans, and boots. After a very long debate about her hair, she decided to let it hang loose – keeping it down implied that tonight was special, which she didn't want to imply, but keeping it up meant exposing her neck, and implying all sorts of not good things. She wore make-up, of course – she was still Buffy Summers, and Buffy Summers never looked a mess. The lipstick wasn't for Spike, of course – Buffy had chapped lips.

While she stared at her dresser, debating whether or not to put on perfume, Dawn knocked on her door.

"Spike is here for your daaaate!" the teenager chirped happily. Buffy had told her sister, but made certain the witches were away when Spike arrived. She wasn't ready to discuss whatever was going on between her and Spike yet. It seemed private still.

The Slayer nodded, sprayed herself once, lightly, and headed downstairs. Dawn followed her, chattering about how unfair it was that Buffy got to leave town for a night.

"I mean, do you know how suffocating this town is for me? I'm totally stuck here, and my Slayer sister would never allow me to visit LA for just a couple nights with my friends, even though I know LA. Nope, Slayer Buffy wants me to be stuck in Snoozerdale with all the vampires and apocalypses and gods. Like LA is more unsafe than here…" she continued, but Buffy laid eyes on her date and stopped paying attention.

He was perfect. He actually wore a button-down. It was blue. Like his eyes. His duster was nowhere to be found, and he was wearing jeans, which was interesting and fascinating and almost disappointing – Buffy liked the leather much more than she cared to admit.

The vampire was staring at her, and she smiled softly. He smiled back, and then cocked his chin at Dawn, the smile turning into a smirk. She shrugged helplessly, as if to say, "She's not actually my real sister." He grinned, and she felt her cheeks warm. She turned away to grab her coat.

"Like, Amber was only just saying last week that our lives are so boring, and I had nothing to say, except – 'I know'! So we started – "

"Dawn!" Buffy cut her off before she started in on a whole new rant. "Willow will be home in about twenty minute from her study meeting. In bed by eleven – it's a school night. Is your homework done?"

Dawn shrugged, "I just have to finish reading this stupid essay about Gothic literature."

"Well, do it. School is important. I'll see you tomorrow," Buffy hugged her sister good-bye and walked toward Spike, shrugging on her trench and pulling her keys out of her pocket.

"Night, Bit," Spike called out as the two exited the house.

"Have fun, you guys," Dawn cheerfully replied.

BTVS

After a few awkward moments in the car – a nice car, probably stolen – Spike had started talking about Gothic literature, and how not stupid it was. He seemed to know not just a lot about Gothic literature and art (which was technically neo-Gothic, Buffy was told), but about how Romanticism transformed into Gothic. He was talking about ballet, music, theatre, literature, visual art, poetry, architecture – and Buffy hung onto every word. Spike talked as a true, passionate scholar. This lengthy conversation lasted them the whole 45-minute-long drive to a few towns over, where Spike pulled up in front of a small café that featured amazing hot chocolate and a duo in the corner, the girl strumming a guitar, the boy singing. It was nice and laidback and comfortable. Spike had done a good job.

And now he was recounting an amazing story about meeting Oscar Wilde, and explaining how sad his life was, but also actually making her admire Drusilla – just a tiny bit.

"She did not say that!" she exclaimed, laughing.

"Sure did! And then she goes, 'Sorry, Mr. Writer, but your Dorian Grey should have embraced his madness, not run from it. He wasn't a true monster. Would you like to see your true monster? I could make you one. Would you like that?' At which point, I had to escort her out of there."

"You should have let her turn him! Then we'd still have him among us, writing!"

Spike smirked. "Oh, don't worry, it's been done with many a great artist."

Buffy gasped. "No! Like who? I can't believe I've never thought about that before!"

"Yeah, of course. An' not just artists, but all sorts of famous blokes and girls. I've met Botticelli, Poe, Alexander the Great, Isabella I (didn't quite die of syphilis), I'm pretty sure someone turned Jim Morrison, Lord Byron (he's a right prick), Cleopatra, and oh yeah, your good mate, Vlad the Impaler, the Prince of Darkness," he snorted. "More like Ponce of Darkness."

Buffy stared, wide-eyed. "I never thought of that aspect of vampirism. Besides turning all those people, but getting to meet all those people. A vampire can have such a crazy, amazing life."

"Yeah, but only if you make the most of it," Spike argued, leaning across the table and staring at her intently. "I gained a reputation for being bloody violent and killing Slayers and being part of the Scourge of Europe, the Whirlwind, whatever, but there was always more happening that never quite made it into any Watcher book. There's more, Buffy," he implored, raising one tentative hand and softly stroking her cheek.

She shivered in pleasure and excitement. "I think… I think I'm ready to talk about us now," she said carefully.

"Let's get out of here?" he asked.

She nodded. He stood, threw some cash on the table, and they walked into the night together.

BTVS

After she took a couple minutes to figure out where she wanted to start, which Spike courteously stayed quiet for, she began. Once she started, she found it hard to stop. As she talked, they walked through the sleepy town, not quite touching, but still somewhat intimate, as if they could hold hands at any given moment. There was an intimate quality to their nearness.

"The thing is, I've been messing up pretty badly these past few months. Ever since the resurrection, I haven't been the same. Of course I wasn't the same – I died, went to heaven, and then was forcefully pulled out of heaven and jerked back into reality - a reality that isn't the most fun of realities to have in this world. I suffered, and my mom was gone, and I felt disconnected and unnatural and abnormal. I know it. I've known it. I haven't felt anything, besides what I felt when I was with you. You made me feel… Like I could just be Buffy, and not have to pretend anything. I didn't have to hide what I was feeling, or what I had become. You didn't want me to be anything but what I was. So I kept coming back to you, even though I knew it was wrong. Besides the whole vampire, soulless thing, I knew I was just using you. Or… At least, that's what I thought."

"What do you mean?" he questioned slowly.

"Why do you think we were never able to kill each other before? Was it technical? Because we were evenly matched? Was it fate? Because the stars had said so? Or did it have something to do with a subconscious pull in both of us – never quite willing to deliver the final blow, never quite able to be rid of each other entirely. So instead, we drove each other crazy for years. The thing is, we've always come back to each other. You kept returning to Sunnydale, even though it was the one place in the entire world that housed a Slayer. I kept going to you for advise or help. And then later, when you started having feelings for me… It was push and pull, always. Even when I hated you, you were there."

"So you admit I have feelings for you?" he asked, suppressing his joy and shock.

"Yes, Spike. I'm sorry I dismissed them before."

"Where is all this coming from? Why the change of heart and mind?" he demanded.

"I talked to Willow some. I talked to Dawn some. I talked to Tara some. And then I did a lot of thinking about our past. Even before I died, I was a total jerk to you. I tried to imagine if An- If someone had treated me like that. It wasn't pretty."

Spike caught onto the near mention of his grandsire, but decided to ignore it.

"So what's all this thinking done? What have you concluded?" he asked quietly.

The Slayer was silent was a long moment, and they continued to walk. Eventually, she spoke.

"I think it means…. I think it means I'm finally ready to explore what a real relationship could be between us," she spoke cautiously. "I don't want to be your enemy anymore. And I'm tired of pretending to try to not try… Or wait. Pretend to be not trying to try? Or not pretend to try to not try? Willow is so much better at this than I am…"

Spike rolled his eyes at the ridiculous California nonsense she was speaking, but smiled warmly at her anyway. He raised a hand to touch her, but she stopped him.

"But I want to take things slow. In fact, I don't want us to really do anything…sexual or touchy or anything at all romantic. Not until we're at a place where we don't have to rely on that and I trust I'm doing it for good reasons and not bad reasons," she looked up at him. "Do you understand what I mean?"

"Yeah, Slayer," he grinned, the smile becoming wider and wider as he watched her squirm. "I think I understand just fine. I'll keep my hands to myself. I can prove that I'm not an animal."

"We'll prove things to each other and ourselves," Buffy concluded, giving the vampire a small smile.


End file.
